


How To Train Your Auror 3: Dead On Arrival

by MrBenzedrine89



Series: How To Train Your Auror [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Hermione Granger, Aurors, Blood, F/M, HTTYA Series, Lemon, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Romance, Serial Killers, Wedding Planning, Weddings, auror dean thomas, deanmus undertones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBenzedrine89/pseuds/MrBenzedrine89
Summary: The 3rd and final installment of the How To Train Your Auror saga. Follow Hermione, Draco, and all of our HTTYA brethren as they balance a Malfoy wedding, a gravely ill Astoria, a new Diggle, and a torturous serial killer as grim as their name!





	1. Time Sensitive

_**When I announced there would be a HTTYA3, I was overwhelmed with all of the positive feedback surrounding the idea! First off, let me start off by saying: THANK YOU to every single person who has stuck by the How To Train Your Auror series. It is my pride and joy, and probably my favorite thing I've written in the fanfiction world besides Starlight. I'm pleased to take you on one final adventure, paired with finishing up the Jameson Chronicles, which you can find on my author page.** _

_If you haven't read the first two HTTYA's, please go do so now! Or you will be VERY confused._

_**I'm pleased as pie to announce waymay is back as my beta reader! LightofEvolution is here, cheering me on, and LondonsLegend has helped me fine tune the plot. She also gave me the brilliant title of this story, HTTYA3: Dead On Arrival. If you don't get that joke, it's a Fall Out Boy song, and my** penname **is from a Fall Out Boy song. Also, it pretty much sums up what to expect this time around. Be prepared for more twists, turns, crazy reveals, and oodles of sarcasm. Back to my previous point, this story wouldn't be possible without these 3 lovely ladies, the real Team Trio. And you, the reader, of course. ;)**_

_Without further ado, I give you **HTTYTA3: Dead On Arrival**_   
_**Rating:** M, for language, violence, and lemons_   
_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this fanfiction._   
_**Summary:** The 3rd and final installment of the How To Train Your Auror saga. Follow Hermione, Draco, and all of our HTTYA brethren as they balance a Malfoy wedding, a gravely ill Astoria, a new Diggle, and a torturous serial killer as grim as their name!_

_**~A.** _

* * *

**"Leaves fall**

**Rain dries**

**Snow melts**

**Fame dies**

**Four words, simply**

**Grow old, with me**

**And when the day comes**

**When we can't walk no more**

**We'll have 2 seats, on my front porch**

**I'll still call you young girl**

**So young girl, rock with me"**

**-2 Rocking Chairs by Jon Bellion**

* * *

****

**Chapter One: Time Sensitive**

 

* * *

"Draco Malfoy!"

It was in moments like these, Draco thought to himself, stepping through the floo having just gotten off of work, when he wished he could hop back through the green flames and volunteer to work overtime. "I didn't do it, whatever it is," he muttered under his breath, shrugging his work bag off his shoulder, which was filled to the brim with Wizengamot trials he was supposed to testify in later this week. He nearly tripped over one of Scorpius' toy trains in the process, catching himself at the last moment and fumbling forward to grab the edge of the leather arm chair by the fireplace.

Draco was exhausted. Working sixty hour weeks at the Ministry so he could take two weeks off for his wedding and honeymoon was running him ragged. His stag party was tomorrow night, thank Merlin, and he couldn't wait for some time away from the hustle and bustle of Auror duties. Just one more day of work, and he could kick off his boots, trade them in for some comfy dragonhide dress shoes, and drink the night away. Not to mention, he could come home and shag Hermione senseless. Speaking of the witch…

" _Draco_!"

Shit. That didn't sound like the voice of a happy bride-to-be. He straightened his posture and hopped over a few more of Scorpius' toys before arriving in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. A year and a half ago, this entire section was in shambles after his run in with Abraxas and the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But thanks to magic, they were able to make repairs little by little. Now, the entrance hall was hardly recognizable. They'd managed to open the floor plan and give natural lighting in the form of stained glass windows; the assortment of hundreds upon hundreds of flower arrangements, though, was _not_ typical.

"Who vomited a gift shop in our foyer?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe. Hermione sat on her knees on the floor, her hair tousled and bushier than normal (even for her) and a stack of papers nearly a meter deep in her lap. Her eyes snapped up to his the moment she heard his voice, and she gave an auspicious smirk before ripping a paper from the middle of the stack and waving it around wildly.

"I've found it!"

"You certainly have," Draco nodded. "What have you found?"

"A copy of the order form you sent off four months ago to the florists. I told the delivery elves they'd made a mistake, but they only deal in their jobs, you see, and unless there's paperwork to back up my statements-"

Draco glanced around the room. "Are these our _wedding_ flowers?"

"Yes!" Hermione shouted with aggravated excitement. "And now I can prove to them they're six days early." Her eyes scanned over the parchment in her hand. "...Or...perhaps not." She jerked her head up to meet his stare. "Draco, what's this?"

"What's what?"

"You've written a two here on the date line. It's _supposed_ to be a seven."

Draco squinted his eyes. "Give me that." He waved his wand and floated the paper to him, careful not to get too close to his furious bride-to-be. As his eyes scanned the paper, his stomach dropped. "Well, I had every intention of writing a seven…"

"Why did I send a _man_ to do a woman's job?"

"That's a bit sexist, don't you think?" he chided, dropping his smirk when he read Hermione's withering glare. "It's fine, Hermione. We can just put them in a stasis spell-"

"-For six days? And where are we to put them in the meantime?"

Draco rolled his eyes, finally gathering enough courage to step forward and offer out a hand to her. "This is a _mansion_ , love. There's plenty of room for a cornucopias amount of _anything_ \- including…" He pulled her upright, scattering her stack of papers all around the floor. She looked as if she was about to protest before he purred in her ear, "a ridiculous amount of hate-sex."

"I would have to hate you first," she whispered back, her face cheek-to-cheek with his. Her arms curled around his neck, and she settled her weight against him.

"We could pretend." His hands slithered around her waist, drawing her even closer. "I could call you filthy," he nipped her earlobe, "and you could call me foul. We could make a night of it, and you could scream my name over and over and-"

From down the hall, the sound of the floo lit to life.

" _Damn it_ ," Draco growled. "I swear, if it's Potter, I'm going to get him a badge that says 'cock block prefect' and permanently spell it to his clothes." He grabbed Hermione's bum for good measure before releasing her and guiding her hand-in-hand toward the doorway leading to the hall. At the end of it, coming from the den, stood a proud, rigid auburn haired man with a swooping brown coat and matching boots. Attached to him at the hip was a small blond boy grinning ear-to-ear when he saw his parents at the end of the hall.

"Hermummy! Daddy!" Scorpius released Theodore Jameson's hand and set off running down the hall.

Draco nearly fell over at the force of Scorpius' hug, trying his best to keep an air of Malfoy posture to him despite the large grin on his face. "Hey, Scorp."

"How was Mum's?" asked Hermione, crouching down to give the four-year-old a hug. He reciprocated in kind, wrapping his stringy arms around her neck and snuggling into her nest of hair. "Did she have a good birthday?"

"Mummy's never saw a sea lion. She thought it was cooooool."

"I take it the sea park went well?" Draco asked Jameson as he approached. Quietly, as not to alarm Scorpius, he whispered to the Auror, "How's she feeling?"

"It was a good day," Theodore muttered quietly, forcing a smile on his face. The strain around his eyes told a different story, however. Ever since the discovery of Astoria's blood curse over a year and a half ago, Draco and Jameson threw themselves into developing a cure. Thanks to Jameson's parents' research, they'd managed to slow the spread of the curse, but nothing, so far, had halted the curse completely. As the months dragged on, it was obvious they were running out of time. Astora grew weaker each passing month until they'd forbidden her to use magic unless necessary, as it spread the curse. As such, Astoria was forced to do many things the muggle way - less Apparition and more walking, for example. However, this left her entirely drained, so it was up to Jameson to transport Scorpius when she felt at her weakest. "She's resting," he added thoughtfully.

"-and we saw a penguin, and a flam-in-grow, and a turtle. It was big, Hermummy. Like, this big." Scorpius threw his arms out as wide as he could.

Hermione giggled and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "That's quite big."

"Albus says turtles can't get that big, but he's wrong. Isn't he?"

"Leave it to a Malfoy to try to start competing with a Potter at the age of four," she sniggered under her breath, exchanging entertained glances with Draco before turning her attention to Jameson. "And how are you doing, Theodore?"

Jameson simply smiled, still stiff in his posture. "I'm fine, Auror Granger." He frowned. "Forgive me. _Miss_ Granger. It is difficult sometimes to-"

"-Don't worry about it," Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Really." She stood up and rubbed the back of Scorpius' hair fondly. "I have some pancakes under a stasis spell in the kitchen. Would you like-" But Scorpius was already bounding down the hall at the word 'pancakes' and soon was out of sight. The three adults shared amused glances before Hermione crossed her arms and added, "I made the choice to transfer departments, Theodore, don't give me that look."

"What look, Miss Granger?"

"The one like you've just kicked my puppy."

Theodore blinked. "You don't have a puppy…"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's a figure of speech, Jameson. Do learn to get out a little more."

"I would if Astoria felt up for it," Jameson replied, clearly not understanding this was a figure of speech as well. "Lately, it's all she can do to get out of bed, sometimes. She puts on a good show for Scorpius, but I fear the curse is progressing more rapidly." Pain encompassed his expression, but he attempted to swallow it down as he cleared his throat.

"My sources in the Research Division say there's a new discovery of a type of Valerian Root that we could try. I could have a sample shipped to you by the end of the day."

"Forgive me for being so blunt, Miss Granger, but I doubt the type of healing root is to blame for our shortcomings. There's _something_ we're missing, but I just can't seem to figure out what it is. And what's worse is I know my parents were successful with this type of thing once before."

"I take it no success in tracking _that_ witch down?" asked Draco.

A cold look spread across Jameson's face. "No." It was obvious he didn't want to go into it.

"Right, well…we'll get there," said Hermione, trying to ease the tension. "Just a matter of time. Some tea before you go, Theodore?"

"Actually, I have to head to work. Evening shifts for me for the time being. Since Tori's father is able to stay with her overnight, I've learned to appreciate those shifts so that I can spend my daytime with her."

"And when do you sleep?" asked Hermione thoughtfully.

"Between the moments." Jameson bowed politely. "I must be off. I'll just see myself through the floo again, if that's alright. Auror Malfoy. _Miss_ Granger." He turned on his heels and strode down the hall, leaving the pair to themselves.

"He seems very stressed," she whispered when he was out of sight. "Maybe we should go visit Astoria more often."

"We need to be focusing on a cure," Draco muttered, carefully glancing behind him to make sure Scorpius wasn't sneaking back into the hall. To be safe, he waved his wand and cast a privacy charm before continuing. "It's why you transferred to the Research and Development Department of the Ministry, after all."

"Yes, I know." Hermione gave a sigh. "Sometimes, I feel as if we're all so busy trying to find a cure, we're forgetting to spend time with Astoria while we still have it."

Draco could sense Hermione's aggravation, and he reached over, entwining their fingers together. "You miss, it, don't you? Being an Auror?"

"Admittedly, sometimes," she said sheepishly. "I feel terrible saying that. Astoria's life hangs in the balance, and I miss catching criminals. How selfish do I sound?" She gave a tight laugh that wasn't at all happy.

"You're good at it - catching criminals. Not being selfish. That's _my_ bag." He sent her a wink. "You know what would cheer Tori right up?"

"If I told her how you flubbed it up with the flower order?"

"Exactly."

They both grinned at one another. "I love you," she said.

Draco brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it like a proper Malfoy gentleman. "Love you too, know-it-all."

He leaned in for a kiss and almost landed it, too, before Hermione pulled back and exclaimed, "Oh! I nearly forgot!" She patted her pockets and retrieved a small envelope. It was addressed to both of them. "We have a letter."

"Both of us," Draco noted. "Interesting…"

"Yes, I thought so, too. But that isn't the peculiar part. Look at the sender."

Draco plucked the envelope from her hand and scanned his eyes over the return address.

 _Dedalus Diggle_  
303 Rowena Way  
Kent, England

"Diggle?" he read and re-read the words.

"I remember a Dedalus Diggle. He was a member of the Order in both the first and second war," Hermione explained, eyes trailing over the envelope as well. "It never occurred to me to think he, Douglas, and Greg could have all been related, but what are the odds of him contacting us?"

"You think Dedalus Diggle is related to _our_ Diggle?" Draco scrunched his nose up at the sound of the words. "'Our Diggle.' That does _not_ have a nice ring to it."

"It's not nice to speak ill of the dead," scolded Hermione. "But, you're right. It doesn't sound great." She inhaled slowly through her nose, seemingly to calm her nerves. "Shall we open it? See what he has to say?"

"Maybe it's a thank you letter for putting Greg away in Azkaban."

"Again, it's not nice to speak ill of the dead."

"Yeah, but I doubt he'll hold it against us. He knew he was a sod." Draco turned the letter over and peeled back the wax seal, coaxing out the letter within.

_Dear Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy_

_Dedalus Diggle, at your service. My deepest and sincerest congratulations to you and yours for the nuptials you soon will vow. I fear there is no easy way of telling you how terribly sorry I am for all of the grief my nephew has caused the two of you. I know it was not my brother Douglas' wishes for Greg to do what he did, and perhaps you can understand why I have not come forward until now. Our family is turmoiled with the stain of my nephew's decisions, but I, myself, am trying to make amends for Greg's transgressions._

_I would like to invite you to tea at seven, the second of April, at my estate in Kent. The floo will be open, and I do hope you accept my invitation. There is much to discuss._

_Dedalus_

"Confident in his owl, isn't he?" asked Draco after finishing. "What if this letter had arrived tomorrow and not today?"

"The letter was sent with a Ministry regulation owl, which means it was forwarded from my office. It's possible it arrived yesterday or the day before."

Draco ran his hand down the side of his clean-shaven cheek, mulling the invitation over. "Do you want to go?"

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, as she always did when she was thinking. "I'm not sure. Do we really want to open up that can of worms?"

"Why would someone open a can of worms? Who is canning worms in the first place?" Draco asked, perplexed.

"Now who's the one who doesn't understand expressions?" she chided. "It means solving one problem only to create problems that weren't there in the first place."

"I find it difficult to trust a Diggle already."

"As do I," she agreed, "but Dedalus was an Order member. He's as reputable as they come."

"Greg Diggle was reputable as well. Look where that got us."

"But his father was an upstanding man."

Draco ground his teeth together. "So what do you want to do? It's your call."

"I think we should hear him out, whatever he has to say...I think Ron would want it that way."

The mention of the late Ron Weasley, in any capacity, used to make Draco's insides lurch with guilt, but nowadays, only a soft pang was present. "Another Diggle in our lives. Oh, joy."

* * *

They arrived through the floo at precisely seven on the dot, as per Hermione's diligent timekeeping. Scorpius held his father's hand when the stepped out, grinning like he'd just been gifted a new broomstick.

"That was fun!" he shouted. "Again!"

"Scorp," Draco scolded, "Quieter, please."

"Sorry, Daddy," Scorpius whispered. "Agaaaain?"

"Not until we're ready to leave for the evening," Hermione said, crouching down beside the child and pinching his cheek. She loved and hated the way his eyes glistened with mischievousness like his father as they searched the small living room adorned with mismatched, patched sofas and armchairs. Clocks filled every available space on the wall, ticking away. Some were small and muggle, others magical with various symbols. Each one of them held a different time.

"Great. We've wandered into a time-fanatic's abode," Draco muttered, turning around. " _Dean?_ "

Hermione whipped her head around to see Dean Thomas sitting lazily on one of the sofas closest to the fire, mouth full of a biscuit. He waved eagerly at the pair, swallowing his food before brushing the crumbs off his shirt. "Allo, Malfoys."

"Dean, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, helping Scorpius slide his tiny backpack, filled with toys to keep him busy, from his shoulders.

Her friend shrugged. "I assume you two got an invitation from Greg's uncle as well?"

"-Ahhhhhh, the Malfoys!" came a soft, friendly voice from the other end of the room. A cheery, older man in a mauve top-hat and fitted waistcoat held a tray of tea and biscuits in the doorway, his green eyes twinkling. It seemed all Diggles adorned the same pair of emerald orbs in their skulls. He wore facial hair in the form of curly, grey mutton chops and bushy eyebrows. "Welcome, welcome!"

"Dedalus Diggle, I presume?" Draco drawled, possessively taking a stance in front of his family. Hermione thought it was cute, considering out of the two of them, she had the better reflexes.

"Assumptions get us nowhere, but yes. I am he." Dedalus shuffled into the room and sat the tray down on the nearest coffee table. "So glad you could make it. Ah, and who is _this_ strapping young man?" He grinned down at Draco's son..

"I'm Scorpius!" the boy said eagerly.

"Scorpius. What a fine name. Do you like cats, boy? My kneazle is around here somewhere. Fluffy little thing called Jinxy. - Jinx! Jinxy!" Dedalus called out, smacking kisses in the air, making Draco roll his eyes. A second later, the jingling of a collar could be heard, and a grey striped kneazle popped out from behind a grandfather clock, stretching leisurely. "Ah, there you are, Jinxy. Come here, sweet girl. That's it." He pet the cat behind the ears as it curled itself around his ankles, purring.

"Can I pet her?" asked Scorpius.

"Of course!"

A second later, the cat was scooped up into the four-year-old's arms, being squished against his chest. The cat mewled but otherwise hung there like a ragdoll, completely motionless.

"You have a lovely home," Hermione tried. "Very...punctual."

Dedalus glanced around to the clocks, smirking. "I do love a good clock. It's interesting, isn't it? We're bound by them. Here. There. All over the world, we're bound by the hours in a day. Time is a precious thing, Miss Granger. Or, should I say, Missus Malfoy?" He gave a wink. "Tea?" he offered to her and Draco, motioning to the sofa for them to sit. When they did, and were sure Scorpius was fine rolling on the floor with the kneazle, they allowed Dedalus to pour them each a cuppa in silence.

It was Draco to break the ice.

"No offense, Diggle, but why are we here? You've had a year and a half to contact us after Diggle's passing. Why wait until now?"

"Wonderful question," Dedalus answered, keeping an evenness to his tone which made Hermione skeptical. Perhaps she was only cautious because of being tricked by Greg, but deep inside, her instincts told her she could trust the man. "It actually has taken me a year and a half of legalities to finally obtain my nephew's final will and testament from his vault, which, as you know, is currently under possession by the Ministry of Magic."

Hermione felt her cheeks warm. "We had no idea you were trying to obtain his possessions-"

"-And you wouldn't have, either, I'm afraid. The legal departments for the Ministry like to keep those things hush-hush from the families of criminals and the like. It took a good bit of blackmail and knowing my way around the legal system to obtain simply a piece of _parchment_."

"So," said Dean, leaning over to pet Jinxy as Scorpius kissed his paws, "What does that have to do with us?"

"Straight to the point, aren't all of you?" Dedalus nodded sadly. "Very well. The truth. Greg left very specific instructions in his will, and..you each were included in it. "

An eery silence befell the room.

"Included...in his _will_?" Hermione gasped.

"Yes." Dedalus pulled off his top hat and revealed a scroll inside before pulling it out and replacing the hat on top of his head. "As awkward as this situation is, I find it imperative to honor my family's wishes. I did it with Douglas when he passed, gifting Greg with the family library. Which, incidentally, has now been gifted to _you_ , Miss Granger."

Hermione's mouth went slack-jawed. She couldn't think - could hardly breathe. In shock, she fumbled out, "Why?"

"Why do you _think_?" Draco growled quietly. "Because the sick pervert had a less-than-innocent fascination with you."

"Well, it isn't just Miss Granger that has been gifted," Dedalus replied, trying very hard to keep his calm demeanor despite Draco's interjections about his nephew. "You as well, Mister Malfoy. And you, Mister Thomas. I don't mean to say you were all individually gifted. The library is yours. _All_ of yours."

The trio exchanged glances.

"We couldn't possibly," said Dean. "The Ministry's confiscated it-"

"But in the events of a last will and testament, the confiscations of a criminal can be released upon his death," said Hermione, finding her voice.

"Why don't _you_ want to keep it?" Draco asked with skepticism.

"I'd like to honor my nephew's wishes, if at all possible," said Diggle, stroking his mutton chops. "And I am an old man with no sons of my own. When I pass, I would have no one to gift the library to. It would be better if it went to someone who appreciated it," he glanced at Hermione.

"And what if one of us says no?" she asked.

"Then you are free to do so."

Draco reached over and clasped Hermione's hand immediately, as if he sensed her tension. Perhaps he did. "As a man who respects time, perhaps you could give us some to talk it over?"

Dedalus nodded. "Of course. However, this is a time-sensitive matter. I have an appointment with the Wizengamot in three days to approve or deny the request for the Library."

"Talk about a bonkers evening," said Dean, reaching over and picking up another biscuit from the tray on the table between them. "What? No one was eating any…"

* * *

**Please let me know your thoughts and give the others a favorite if you haven't done so already? XD Really, there's no pressure! But it's always a nice thought. Remember, you can follow me on facebook and tumblr for sneak previews and cover arts!**

**See you next Friday!**   
**With love**   
**A.**


	2. Stag Party

 

****

**Ahhh! The love that came back in waves to me was overwhelming and so supportive! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I cannot believe how happy everyone was at me making the 3rd book. I hope I do yall justice.**

**Waymay and LondonsLegend. Give it up for these two lovely ladies, because without them, this chapter wouldn't be possible. Waymay gave me some great descriptions for roller coaster experiences (as I HATE them with a passion), and LondonsLegend helped me fact check a few things on the roller coasters of 2010 (when this book takes place). LightofEvolution gave me the idea for the stag party, so she deserves loves as well. Agh, I love these ladies so much. :3 I'm gushing over here.**

**Replies to reviews at the end of the chapter!**   
**With all the love**

**A.**

**PS: For those wondering, Dedalus Diggle IS cannon to the story! He was in the books and even in the movie. :D**

**Oh, and lemon alert.**

* * *

**"The death of a bachelor**   
**Oh**   
**Letting the water fall**   
**The death of a bachelor**   
**Oh**   
**Seems so fitting for**   
**Happily ever after**   
**How could I ask for more?**   
**A lifetime of laughter**   
**At the expense of the death of a bachelor"**

**Death of a Bachelor by Panic at the Disco**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Stag Party**

* * *

"Stag party!"

"Dean, do you need to shout? I think my ear's bleeding…"

"Sorry, Harry."

"Seriously, gents, are we going to get this broom off the ground, so to speak, or are we going to sit around all day and stare at me?"

"Draco, shut it. No one is staring at you."

"Why not? It's my stag party."

Draco, Harry, and Dean stood around a tattered backpack at the edge of The Burrow's perimeter, awaiting the arrival of George Weasley so that the stag party could commence. At exactly six in the evening, the portkey would be activated, taking them wherever it was his groomsmen had planned. Though Draco had no idea where they would land, he'd been informed to wear something casual and easy to move around in. He kept his wand secured on a holster at his belt, the paranoid Auror that he was, and kept checking time time on his watch every few moments or so.

"Have somewhere else to be?" Harry commented, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow. It was rare that the two ever went out together, as Harry was Lead Auror and had been for some time now, but secretly Draco was humbled by the gesture of Harry putting his stag party together. Dean had been given the official role of 'Best Man' simply because he wouldn't shut up about it, but Harry and Draco knew there was an unspoken bond between them that had grown over the years. Not that either one of them would _ever_ admit it outloud.

"Maybe under the sheets with Hermione?" Draco smirked, causing Harry's left eye to twitch. He otherwise held his poker face.

"As long as she isn't disappointed in the performance," he quipped back, sticking his hands deep inside his pockets, trying not to grimace. "Dean, really, what the Hell are you doing?"

Dean was busy hanging off the edge of the gate, his legs tucked between the slats while he rode it as it swung back and forth. He glanced up when he caught his friends staring at him. "I...er...oh, don't act like you've never done it before."

"When we were _five_."

"Ah, Seamus never judges me like you do."

"How is he?" asked Harry.

Dean hoisted himself off the gate, landing hard on his feet. "He's doing alright. Although, the places the Daily Prophet sends him for photographs are ridiculous sometimes. Do you know they made him visit an elderly hermit who lives on Kilimanjaro? You can't just Apparate there. The difference in sea levels and air pressure would make you pass out almost instantly…" He swung his arms this way and that, giving them a stretch. "Guess it's the life of a well-paid photographer, aye?"

"Meanwhile, the Ministry barely gives us decent wages for combating crime on a daily basis," mused Draco.

Harry shot him a scornful look. "We make decent money, Draco. The only reason you think it's so low is because you're so filthy rich."

"I am, aren't I?" Draco smirked.

Two small _pops_ were heard from the other side of the gate, and all turned in the direction to look just past the perimeter; there, they found George Weasley carrying a barrel under his arm, and next to him stood-

" _Goyle_?"

The sight of the nearly two meters tall, husky man at the edge of the gate made Draco's mouth slack. It had been well over ten years since he and Gregory Goyle had spoken to each other. The last time Draco recalled holding a conversation with him was the day following Draco's trial after the second war, when he had been found innocent. It was a short conversation, as Goyle was a man of few words, mainly because he didn't know many. But Draco remembered the distance that had fallen between them even before then: right around the time of Crabbe's death.

Goyle gave a sheepish, half-grin and waved his pudgy hand from where he stood. "Allo."

"We know how much you just _love_ all of us," said George, "but we thought you might enjoy spending your stag night out with someone you grew up with. You know, and _liked_ during school…"

Draco glanced around to Dean and Harry, who waited for a response. Carefully, Draco stepped forward and walked past the gate, straight up to Goyle, and slowly rested a hand on his shoulder. He gave it a light squeeze before saying, "It's been a while."

It was all Goyle needed to hear. Suddenly, Draco found himself squeezed between two beefy arms that wrapped around his slender frame and nearly choked the life out of him. "Good to see you, Draco!"

"Ah! Y-Yeah!" Draco gasped. He was sure he resembled a cat trying to wiggle his way out of a child's tight grasp. "G-Good to see you, too! Can't...breathe…"

"Oh." Goyle released him immediately, and Draco stumbled back, gasping for air. "Sorry. Forget how strong I am, sometimes."

Draco was still sputtering for air as he waved his hand about. "S'fine...really…"

"What's in the barrel?" asked Dean to George.

George's eyes lit up. "Ahhh, great question. Mead, my young friend."

"I hate mead," replied Draco.

"So do I," said Harry. "But I think, tonight, you're going to need it. Portkey's ready, gents! Shall we get a move on?"

"You two will have plenty of time to catch up once we get there," said George, wrapping an arm around Draco and Goyle. While he managed to push Draco forward, Goyle was so stout, he didn't budge an inch. It was only when he realized George was trying to move him that he humored him and stepped along, making his way to the backpack.

"Okay, on three," said Harry.

" _On_ three? Or after?" asked Dean.

"I said on, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but sometimes people don't-"

"Three!" shouted George, forcing all the men to scramble at the portkey. Draco's insides immediately yanked backwards at his navel as his fingers touched the strap of the bag. The world spun, but before he knew it, they landed hard on a firm surface of grass. He fought the urge to vomit as he sat up, hair whipped in every direction. He wasn't the only one. Harry's glasses hung off one side of his ear, and Goyle had landed with his face in the dirt, a lovely line of brown skirted up his nose. He brushed it off as he glanced around and asked, "We landed?"

Draco could have facepalmed if he wasn't so busy trying to fight off a quippish insult like in his school days. "Obviously…" he drawled, brushing down his shirt. "Where the Hell are we, Potter?"

"You'll see." Harry fixed his glasses, and all of the men hoisted themselves to their feet. It was only then that Draco saw, far off on the horizon, the most peculiar sight. He'd only seen something like it in one of Hermione's magazines.

"Is...is that a roller coaster?"

"Not just any roller coaster," said George proudly.

"That's El Toro," finished Dean, grinning ear-to-ear. "Fastest wooden rollercoaster in the world, that is."

"Where _are_ we?" asked Draco.

"New Jersey," shrugged Harry.

Draco and Goyle, being pureblooded and entirely proud of their British heritage, gaped in shock. "The _States_?" they asked at the same time.

"Well, we couldn't just bring the world's fastest rollercoaster to us, now could we? Don't worry. We managed to place a well-crafted muggle-repairing charm on it after renting it out for the evening." With a skip in his step, Harry beckoned them on. "George and I took the liberties of figuring out how to work it all by magic, thanks to some help from Hermione."

Draco and Goyle exchanged wary glances before following the others in the direction of the entrance. "Six Flags," Goyle read aloud on a nearby sign. "Muggles are strange…"

"You can say that again," Draco muttered, slapping Goyle on the shoulder. "Just so we're clear, you know I'm marrying Hermione Granger, right?"

Goyle's face dropped. "What?" Another second later, he was laughing. "Yeah, mate. It's all over the papers."

"I didn't know you had a sense of humor," Draco smirked as they stepped through the ticket check point. They had to pass some strange looking spoke that stuck out amongst two others. When it was pushed forward, another sprung up, taking its place. "Seriously, what is the point of this?"

"Crowd control," Dean answered cheerfully. "It's called a turnstile."

"Dad would get a kick out of it," George chimed in, holding the barrel of mead high above his head as he passed through the turnstile. "I couldn't tell him where we were headed tonight. He'd have wanted to come, and _trust me,_ nothing kills a party worse than Arthur Weasley."

Harry snorted a laugh up ahead. "Aww, he isn't that bad, is he?"

"Harry...you've no idea." George sat his barrel of mead down on a park bench, _accio'd_ five souvenir mugs, and poured them each a pint. "Alright, men, gather around and behold the brewery expertise of Charlie Weasley!"

"Ugh," Draco groaned under his breath, "another Weasley. How many of you are there?" All the same, he took his mug and inhaled the yeasty aromas.

"Drink up!" Dean slapped Draco on the back, nearly spilling the drink on his shirt. "You're going to need that liquid courage, because we're about to ride El Toro!"

"Seriously?" Goyle gasped.

"Well, you're going too," said George. "We all are!"

"Ugh."

* * *

The climb up was slow at first, the wheels clicking and lurching every few seconds as the contraption attempted to pull all of their weight forward. The buildings down on the ground grew smaller as they climbed higher, and the cart shook ever so slightly each time a gust of wind breezed by. To make matters worse, the slats beneath them creaked and groaned as if to warn them not to continue. Draco sat in the front seat at Harry's insistence ("You're the groom, after all!"), and as he stared out at the wooden railing on either side of where they would leave the comforts of the coaster stall, he couldn't help but think if he pissed in his pants just a little, he wouldn't hold it against himself. "You're sure these are safe?" he asked.

Harry, grinning like a Cheshire cat next to him, shook his head. "Not really!"

"Fuck."

The car moved forward on the track, and Draco gripped the bar at his stomach as tight as he could.

"Bring it!" shouted Dean, his voice cracking ever so slightly, as if his courage snuffed out the moment he said it.

"Gonna be sick," mumbled Goyle.

"Don't! I'm directly behind you!" groaned George.

The car started its ascent up, up, up the tracks. The angle at which the cart crawled was nearly worse than the portkey by what it did to Draco's insides; he'd heard stories of these muggle contraptions, but to think he was actually _riding_ one…

They made it to the top of the hill. Draco looked out at the green patches of land far off, thinking for a brief moment how beautiful it was and how it reminded him of flying a broomstick. The next second, he was plummeting down, down, down the hill, screaming at the top of his lungs. _NOPE!_ He thought suddenly. This was _nothing_ like a broomstick.

"FUUUUCK!"

"Whooooo!" screamed Harry.

Dean and George were cheering in the back. Goyle made a gargling burp sound, and Draco was thankful he was at the front for the first time in the ride. He forcefully kept his eyes open, despite the wind cutting figurative blades into his eyeballs, as they raced down the track, tilting sideways at alarming speeds. He didn't want to miss a thing.

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit-"

"Hell yeah!"

"Urp-"

"Don't-"

"BLEGH."

"Gross!"

"It's in my mouth!"

"Shit, shit, shit, shit…" Draco continued to mutter as they finally started to slow. His eyes were as wide as quaffles as they pulled back into the station. Harry wore a mischievous smirk as he turned around to check the others. Draco did the same, meeting Dean fist pumping and begging to go again. Goyle was as green as a snake, and George had a pile of sick over his face and shoulders.

"Weasley, you're looking better than usual," Draco quipped with a smirk.

George immediately reached for his wand as Harry, Dean, and Draco burst into uncontrollable laughter. It took him all of two seconds to clean up the sick with a _scourgify_ , but it didn't take away the smell of shame that filled the cart.

"That was brilliant," Draco admitted.

"You think _that's_ cool," said Dean, "Wait till you ride Kingda Ka!"

"Is that some sort of serpent?"

Harry and Dean grinned at one another. "You'll see."

* * *

Kingda Ka, it turned out, was the rollercoaster that held the record for height, reaching four hundred and fifty six feet at it's tallest point, and accelerating to a startling rate of one hundred and sixty eight miles per hour in two point five seconds flat, according to the muggle brochure. Draco's legs were jelly as he stepped out of the cart after three rounds on the coaster, and he was thankful when Goyle suggested that they take a break. Barely able to see straight, he wasn't sure whether to blame the ride or the mead for his dizziness.

"Wanna go again?" asked George to Harry and Dean.

"Gryffindors," Draco rolled his eyes.

The Slytherin men wobbled their way down the ramping and found a comfortable bench to rest their exhausted minds. It wasn't that they were cowards - more that they enjoyed fear of the minds, not an adrenaline rush.

"That's what I get for letting lions host my bachelor party."

"They seem alright," said Goyle, plopping down on the bench next to Draco - it vibrated from his weight.

Smiling, Draco had to agree. "Yeah. They are."

The men sat in silence for a time, simply staring at the Kingda Ka, and listening to their chums scream in excitement.

"Sorry we haven't talked," Goyle said.

"I get it," Draco replied.

"...Is it true you have a sister? And she's related to Vincent?"

"Yup."

"Blimey...weird."

"Very."

Goyle rubbed his thick hands down his pants, brushing bits of dust from them. "I got married."

"Did you?" Draco turned his head toward his friend. "To whom?"

"...Millicent."

" _Bulstrode_?"

"Yeah…"

There was a pause. "For some reason, that just sounds like a good fit." Draco didn't add it was because both of them resembled bulldogs.

"Yeah," Goyle said with a dreamy undertone. "We are."

"...So are we - me and Hermione, I mean."

"Never thought you'd fall for a muggleborn," Goyle commented. "Guess a lot of things have changed…"

"They have," agreed Draco. "...But you've still always been my friend. Even if we haven't spoken."

Goyle smiled. "Yeah. Same to you, mate."

As they watched the rollercoaster whizz and turn, Draco leaned against the back of the bench, tapping his foot and thinking to himself that, as far as gifts went, having Goyle here at his stag party was right up there with having Scorpius for a son. The world turned just a little steadier, and Draco smiled warmly. Sometimes, moments clicked not when you wanted them to, but when you needed.

He thought about asking how the sex was with Millicent, but then thought better of it. Some things were better lef tunderwraps, and he didn't need his wonderful night scarred with that image seared into the back of his brain.

* * *

Draco crawled back into his cozy bed at a quarter past two in the morning, drunk off mead and adrenaline. Hermione, to his delight, slept soundly on her side of the bed, and he snuggled against her back, effectively spooning her as he kicked the covers off of them both.

"Granger," he whispered against her neck, darting his tongue out to lap at the delicious, exposed skin. "Granger, wake up."

Hermione stirred against him. "Since when do you call me 'Granger'?"

"Shh, I'm roleplaying," he murmured into her bushy hair. "You're the annoying, prissy bookworm, and I'm the cunning, handsome badboy…"

He felt her snort into her pillow before rolling over to face him. Their noses brushed together, and it took everything in Draco not to kiss her as she said, "Someone's in a good mood. Did you have fun at your party?"

"Would have been more fun if you'd been there," he replied, curling an arm around her hip and pulling her flush against him. He didn't even try to hide the prominent erection in his pants. "Miss me?"

"Always…" Her arm draped around his neck, fingers weaving into the hair at the nape. "Ick, you smell like a brewery."

"I smell like a man," he quipped back. "A manly man...manly, _manly_ man full of manly...urges."

"You're drunk."

"And horny. What ever are we going to do about that?"

"I've been thinking about the library."

Draco groaned. " _Really_?"

"I think it's something we should talk about," she said diligently.

"I think it could wait until _morning_ ," he replied, dipping his head forward and brushing his lips against hers; he knew she liked it best when there was a small amount of stubble on his face. Hermione breathed heavily against his mouth before capturing his lips in a soft, sensual kiss.

"Morning, then," she agreed before kissing him again. This time, her tongue darted out and met his. Even after all this time, she still had a way with him that made him feel as if he were a schoolboy on his first sexual romp. Though they were familiar with each other in every intimate sense, Draco always got a strange twinge of nervousness as his fingers dusted over her shaped form. Hermione had a way of getting under his skin and settling there in the best and worst of ways. She was an intoxicating fix he didn't reckon he would ever get over, especially after all they'd gone through to get to this point.

He reached for the hem of her negligee, bunching it up over her thighs to expose the sexy underwear beneath: lacy, red, and entirely new. "Someone was waiting for me to come home," he commented with a hint of pride.

"Took you forever to," she jeered back playfully, rolling on her back as he propped himself up on his elbow. His fingers trailed over her thighs and the dip between, moving at a snail's pace toward the apex between her hips.

"It was my _stag_ party. Give me a little credit. I didn't stay out _all night._ "

His hand reached the juncture of her thighs and spread them, moving up to cup her panty-clad clit with his palm. Hermione hissed softly, turning her head away from him and closing her eyes, excited for the contact. He kissed along her neck as he rubbed the heel of his palm against her in agonizingly slow circles.

"I wouldn't have, anyway," he continued, nibbling at her earlobe. "Not when I have such a sexy, fit, _mouth-watering_ treat waiting for me at home." He skimmed his breath down her neck before licking a line down to her shoulder and back up to the shell of her ear. "Let me taste you."

"Mmm, yes," she nodded, her head turning toward him. "Anything to shut you up."

Draco smirked at the same time she did. "Quippy." He removed his hand from between her legs. "You know what to do."

Hermione giggled softly as she sat upright and climbed down the length of him on all fours. Her taut ass exposed, still packaged in those pretty red skivvies. She leaned forward on her elbows and glanced over her shoulder. "Please, Draco."

He didn't need to be told twice. Growling, he reached for her hips and pulled her back as he sat up against the headboard, admiring her. He hooked a finger through the band of her panties and pulled them down over her bum, then all the way, dropping them down her legs like the way he dropped from the Kingda Ka ride. There she was, cherry pink from head to toe as he took in the sight of her already wet and ready for him. As coy as she played, he knew she loved it when he admired her like this.

"Tell me what you want, Hermione," he whispered, grasping one cheek and then the other, pulling them apart just the way she liked. Once, twice, three times he smacked her on the ass for fun, and by the fourth one, he had her gasping.

"I want you to eat me," she groaned, fisting the sheets. "Please, Draco. Eat me out. Lick me. Taste me. Just do _something_ with that tongue of yours."

Draco's prick was already rock hard against the confines of his trousers, but it twitched, pulsing with even more want for her at her words. "Where? Here?" He pulled her hips up and dove in, trailing his tongue up her clit and over her wet folds. One taste, and Draco feasted on her like he was on death row in Azkaban, and she was his last meal. He moved his tongue leisurely before climbing it up to press against the sensitive button between her ass cheeks, making her all out moan.

"What a bad girl, Hermione," he teased, lapping at her again. "Just love it when I lick anywhere, don't you? Your pussy." Lick. "Your ass." He flicked his tongue against her clit as Hermione stifled back a joyful scream. "Mine."

"God...yours," she sighed,rocking in time with his ministrations. Her cheek brushed against his crotch, so Draco moved his hips to remind her that _he_ would also love some oral fixation. Getting the hint, Hermione managed to release the sheets long enough to unbuckle his pants and slide them down with his help, exposing his cock.

"Put it in your mouth," he demanded before setting back to work, this time paying careful attention to her ass. Hermione wrapped her small hand around him and propped herself up on her elbows to better get a good angle. The next second, Draco felt her tongue move across the head, and he forgot himself for a moment, whispering against her clit, "That's it. Now swallow it. I want to feel it down your throat."

Hermione bobbed her head forward; Draco saw stars. He set to work, and they took turns taking the lead, finding a rhythm amongst each other to optimise the pleasure. Every time Draco's cock pressed at the back of Hermione's throat, he had to pinch himself on the leg to keep from coming undone. By the third time, payback was in order. While focusing his tongue against her swollen clit, Draco rested his thumb against her puckered asshole and pressed the tiniest bit. Hermione moaned with his cock still in her mouth as she rolled her hips.

"Like that?" he teased, repeating the motion. The vibration of Hermione sighing against his cock was all the answer he needed.

It didn't take him long, alternating between licks, nibbles, and fingering her ass to make her come undone. Her legs quaked against his hands, but she didn't lose focus of her own task. Her head bobbed up and down quicker, and Draco found himself on the brink of coming.

"Fuck, yes. Like that. Suck me, love. What a good girl...fuck…" He spilled his come down the back of her tongue and throat, but Hermione took it all, swallowing every last drop. Then, she collapsed on her side, stretching out amongst the bed in a euphoric way.

Draco smirked, catching her gaze. "Love you."

Still gasping for breath, she replied, "Love you, too. - Still want to marry me?"

Rolling his eyes, he stretched out on the bed next to her, pulling her against him. "Maybe it's just the mead talking, but yes. I think I do."

"I'm sure it's just the mead," she giggled back, kissing him just beneath the jaw. "I think I like drunk-Draco. He should come around more often."

"Great. Now sober me has competition," he chuckled, brushing a few stray curls out of her eyes.

"Not if sober you agrees to talk about the library tomorrow…"

" _Goodnight,_ Hermione."

Laughing, she snuggled closer into his side. "Goodnight, Draco."

* * *

 

**_Hope I didn't miss anyone! See you all next chapter!_ **   
**_A._ **


	3. The Grangers

****

 

**Hello, everyone! I have news! Recently, Tango, Sex Ed, Bond, and The Closet Relativity Theory took 1st place in the 2017 Spring Dramione Awards! I couldn't have done so without the support of my readers (you) and three special ladies: LightofEvolution, LondonsLegend, and waymay. These ladies are not only betas and cheerleaders, but friends that I value and cherish. They believed in my stories when I didn't and always kept me focused. Thank you. And big congratulations to LightofEvolution for taking 2nd place in fluff/humor with Tickling the Dragon! Everyone should go check it out!**

**As always, the biggest shout outs to my betas, waymay, LondonsLegend, and LightofEvolution.**

**~A.**

* * *

**"I found myself dreaming**   
**In silver and gold**   
**Like a scene from a movie**   
**That every broken heart knows we were walking on moonlight**   
**And you pulled me close**   
**Split second and you disappeared and then I was all alone**

**I woke up in tears**   
**With you by my side**   
**A breath of relief**   
**And I realized**   
**No, we're not promised tomorrow**

**So I'm gonna love you**   
**Like I'm gonna lose you"**

**"Like I'm Gonna Lose You" by Meghan Trainor featuring John Legend**

* * *

**Chapter Three: The Grangers**

* * *

When Hermione awoke the next morning, tangled in Draco's arms, she felt thoroughly satisfied. Rarely in her adult life had she been allowed to feel content, nearly complete in her everyday ins and outs. These moments were often so subtle she missed them before they happened, but today, as she pried open her eyes and stared at the serene expression of a sleeping Draco Malfoy, she knew this was one of those times. In four days time, the engagement ring on her finger would be paired with a wedding band, and with it, the promise of a future till death did they part.

Marriage wasn't something either one of them was a stranger to. When they had said 'I do' last time, they meant forever. However, the universe felt it prudent to rip Ron from her life and set the wheels in motion for Draco and Astoria's divorce. This marriage would be bittersweet; it would begin a new chapter in their lives.

Gradually, Hermione began to peel herself from the many layers of blankets, arms, and legs, eventually finding her way to an upright position. She stared down at Draco, smiling. Good heavens, he could be adorable when he was sleeping. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he couldn't cast insults or intimidating looks. For whatever reason, she felt inclined to lean forward and kiss his cheek. As her lips pressed against his face, she felt a large, warm hand curl around her waist and pulled her on top of him, chest to chest. Against her ear, Draco whispered, "G'morning, gorgeous."

She fought a blush as she whispered back, "Hello, handsome."

"Were you going somewhere?"

"I thought about getting up."

Draco  _tsk'd_  under his breath. "Sounds dreadful. Why would you want to when we could crawl back under these covers and…"  _Knock, knock, knock!_

"Are you both decent?"

Groaning, Draco threw his head back against the pillow. "Go away, Potterette!"

"No!" a very diligent Ginny could be heard on the other side of the door. "We've only four days until your nuptials, and there's still lots to do! I'll ask again -  _are you decent_?"

"Haven't been a day in my life!" Draco shot back, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"She's beginning to mirror Molly more and more each day," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"I heard that!" said Ginny. "I'll be downstairs. I expect you both up and ready in fifteen!"

"Tell me again why we decided to make her the wedding coordinator?" asked Draco.

Prying herself up to sit while attempting to modestly cover her breasts, Hermione pursed her lips. "You know why. Astoria being sick and all…"

His face fell. "Suck the life out of everything, why don't you?" He wrapped his fingers around her wrists and forced her arms down at her sides. "Why do you insist on trying to cover yourself up? You know I enjoy the view."

"Yes, exactly," she said, "which is why I know that if I let you 'enjoy the view', we will  _never_ be downstairs on time."

"Touché." Draco released her and chuckled. "Although, I'm not completely opposed to a quickie…"

With another roll of her eyes, Hermione jumped out of bed and scampered over to the walk in closet, shutting the door behind her. "You're incorrigible!" she laughed.

"And you love it!" a muffled voice said from the other side. The door pried open and Draco, in only a set of boxers, smirked impishly at her. "You can't hog the closet, Hermione. I have clothes in here, too." His eyes scraped over her exposed form, drinking her in.

Selecting a flowy skirt from the closet, she teased, "What happened to Granger?"

"Oh, did someone like it?" Draco strolled up directly behind her, nestling his nose into the crook of her neck. " _Granger_."

A small part of Hermione giggled inside, but the rest of her was hit with a sudden wave of lust. Her fingers curled tighter around the hanger in her hand as she attempted to hold back a shudder, failing miserably. It was the way he growled her surname that had her knees shaking and cheeks flushed.

"Soon, you won't be able to call me that."

"You're right," he agreed. "Soon, it'll be  _Malfoy._ " A hand curled around her waist and dipped between her thighs, fingers instantly finding their favorite place. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against him and let his fingers work their magic as he continued, "My  _wife._  And then you'll moan as my  _wife_ , and when I bury my cock inside of you, it'll be inside my  _wife_." From the outside, Hermione was sure anyone else would have giggled, but the way in which he said the word 'wife' gave her heart startling palpitations. It was possessive and needy and intimate. And it solidified her want to be a family even more than they already were; it might appear as a piece of parchment to some, but to Draco and Hermione, it was a lifetime guarantee of a partner to share the loads of day-to-day with. Something about the dependability and partnership was sexier than what any lust-filled, tawdry one-night-stand could offer.

"What if I wanted to hyphenate?"

Draco's fingers stilled against her clit. "Over my dead body."

"Careful. I know where you sleep, Mister Malfoy."

"As do I,  _Missus Malfoy_."

Another shudder. She didn't want to, but Hermione managed to move his hand away from her, and she grabbed up the first shirt in her sight before breezing past him and out of the closet. "Best hurry, or Ginny's going to use her bat-bogey hex on you!" Quickly, she jogged to the bathroom, locked the door behind her, and laughed quietly to herself.

No, this wasn't the life she pictured straight out of Hogwarts, but Hermione was  _extremely_  satisfied with it, nonetheless.

* * *

"Tell me, Hermione,  _why_ did you think leaving the flower order to Malfoy would be a good idea?" Ginny asked, staring around at the rows upon rows of flowers tucked away in the ballroom of the Malfoy Manor.

"I, honestly, have no clue…"

"You're lucky a stasis spell is at our disposal."

"Tell me about it," Hermione grumbled, blowing a stray curl out of her eyes. Out of the view of a nearby window, she could see Draco gliding lazily on his broomstick as Scorpius followed him on a toy version, which was charmed to fly only two three feet off the ground. A child's version of a snitch flew slowly around the yard, and Draco pretended not to see it as Scorpius pointed in its direction. It was adorable to see them together, she thought. "Where are the kids?"

"I was going to bring them, but you know Mum. If she could, she'd adopt all three of them, and Harry and I would be childless." Ginny grinned. "Speaking of Mums, when is yours due to arrive?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. How could she have forgotten? "Oh my goodness...what time is it?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ginny smirk. "Relax, Hermione. Harry's on his way to the airport to pick them up as we speak. Then he'll be bringing them through the floo in our home."

Hermione felt her lungs deflate, and she leaned her forehead on Ginny's shoulder. "I'm not usually this unorganized."

"It's called being a bride, honey. You'll get used to it." Ginny patted her on the back. "And as soon as you do, the wedding will be over, and you'll be back to your tip-top shape again."

"You promise?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. Because I feel like I need a drink," Hermione groaned. "A strong one. Fruity, but effective."

"With tequila?"

"Vodka."

"Noted."

* * *

"Hermione, you know I don't enjoy wearing these scratchy muggles clothes," Draco grumbled under his breath as he watched Hermione pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. She felt his eyes on her the entire time while he fidgeted with the pockets of his jeans. "Why am I wearing them again?"

"I thought it might make my parents more comfortable when they arrived," she answered, pulling at the dry skin of her lower lip until she was sure she tasted copper. "Magic still overwhelms them, at times."

"You've been practicing magic for over twenty years now. One would think they would be used to it," he muttered back. "And the way you have Scorpius dressed…" He gestured to their son on the floor, who was rolling around in his dinosaur t-shirt and matching muggle jeans, adorning bright red sneakers as well.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Scorpius asked with curiosity.

Hermione ribbed Draco with her elbow as she smiled and told Scorpius, "They fit you quite well. Wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

"Yes. Quite well," he stated, covering up his mistake. Grinning, the boy went back to playing with his dragon action figures.

"I can't believe we both forgot about the date."

"More like  _you_ did," quipped Draco, and upon seeing Hermione's scathing expression, he added, "What? It's not my business to keep track of your parents."

"While we wait...perhaps we should talk about the elephant in the room?"

"Elephant!?" Scorpius' head shot up. "Where?"

"It's an expression, Scorp," Draco dismissed casually. "One that I, myself, have a hard time grasping…"

"It means the obvious thing none of us want to talk about," Hermione said diligently. "And I think you know where I'm about to go with this."

"The library," they said together.

"What's a libwary?" asked Scorpius.

"A  _library_  is a place where one stores a large collection of books," answered Hermione.

"Cooooooool."

"Do you hear that, Draco? Scorpius thinks books are cooooool," she giggled, leaning into his side. She could feel his chest vibrate against her shoulder as he chuckled.

"Bookworms, the lot of you."

"Daddy tries to pretend he isn't one, but we know the truth, don't we Scorpius?" Hermione winked at her child.

With a smirk to rival his father's, Scorpius nodded. "Daddy loves books. Daddy loves books!" he began in sing-song.

"I'd like to retract my statement. You two are -what is it the muggles call it? -'Nerds.'" Draco stuck out his tongue. Softer, so Scorpius might not hear, he added, "Are you seriously considering agreeing to custody of that library?"

"And you aren't?" she asked as her heartbeat quickened.

With an indignant snort, he shook his head, still keeping his voice hushed. "Let me put it to you this way. What on  _Earth_  could I want with a library owned by one of my biggest adversaries who lusted after my future wife and nearly destroyed my entire family? - Besides, I'm rich enough to buy any book he might have there. We could just get a list and-"

"-But that's just it, isn't it? Diggle - Cain - he  _collected_  things. The Pandora Stone. The Gray Book. What if there are other things? Dangerous things? Things that are one of a kind?"

Draco's voice grew low and held a hint of frustration. "That isn't our problem, Hermione. That part of our life is over, remember?"

"Is it?" she asked, turning to face him. "I don't mean to say it isn't, but...our lives were forever changed by him, you know? What if Diggle left us that library for a  _reason_?"

"Whatever reason it was, it's probably entirely sinister." He paused. "Are you  _really_  considering taking that library?"

Hermione's heart hurt in more ways than one. "There's a part of me that's curious. The rest of me knows...it's just too painful. Diggle might have redeemed a portion of himself in the end, but...it still doesn't take back all of the terrible things he did. To both of us." She wrapped her arms around herself as a chill crawled down her spine. "Still, I don't think he would leave it to us without a cause, and I don't see him putting myself or Scorpius in harm's way." She watched Draco's eyebrows stitch together. "Oh, come off it. You know he would have wished harm on you in a heartbeat."

Draco shrugged. "True."

"My point is, he wrote that will when he thought Abraxas might attack him in Azkaban, yes? What I can't figure out is how the will came to be in the vault...unless…" She blinked. The realization that took hold of her made her tongue numb and her head light.

"Unless what?"

"Unless he left it there the day we took him back into his vault." She felt the urge to vomit but pushed it down quickly. "Which means he had it on him when you broke him out that day."

A heavy silence fell between them for a time as they watched the fireplace, both forgetting that they were awaiting the arrival of Hermione's parents. Their thoughts rested on Diggle and how well he played the game.  _His_  game.

"Do you...you're not suggesting he  _knew_  we would break him out," said Draco with a touch of horror lodged in his throat.

"I'm saying he might have suspected it," she replied. "In which case, he knew that one day, this library would, in fact, be brought into our lives."

"Fucking Hell," Draco muttered.

"Daddy!" Scorpius chided. "No swearing!"

"I never swore," he replied. "I cursed. There's a difference."

"Oh, honestly," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So what do we want to do about the library, then?" asked Draco. She knew that tone of voice; he was leaving it up to her. He would respect whatever decision she made, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter.

She thought about it. On the one hand, she would have a new collection of books at her disposal, and her unwavering curiosity wanted her to take the offer. But knowing that they came from the man who took away her husband and put so many people in jeopardy...her moral compass told her to put the past in the past and leave well enough alone. Her creative side thought of a very interesting loophole.

"We shouldn't take the library," she said as-a-matter-of-factly.

Surprised, Draco asked, "Oh?"

"But that doesn't mean we can't take a peek whenever Dean says yes to it."

Smirking, he replied, "Always the clever one, weren't you?"

Before Hermione could answer him to tell him just how right she was, the flames of the fireplace turned green and crackled, signaling an arrival through the floo network. She straightened her back just before Harry emerged, and with him, two soot-covered, but entirely happy, Granger parentals.

Her father, Jean Granger, was a tall, thin man with a thick head of auburn hair and a rather large nose. Her mother, Helena, was short and curvy, and wore a smile so similar to her own, Hermione felt like she was looking in a mirror. She'd definitely acquired her hair from her mother, but she gathered her bone structure from her father, along with his naturally large teeth. He, however, hadn't shrunken them with a spell, so they still were one of his most prominent features, even if they were as straight as teeth could get.

"Hermione!"

One look, and the Grangers were all arms, reaching and hugging and grinning from one ear to the other. Hermione suffocated under the weight of her father's arms and her mother's bosom, but she allowed her parents to squeeze the life out of her until she felt a tug at her skirt. Quickly, she reached down, scooped up Scorpius, and said, "Mum, Dad, you remember little Scorp."

"Oh my word!" said Jean, "This can't be Scorpius. Tell me, young man, do you have a job yet? Are you paying your bills?"

"My friend Albus has a duck at his Granny's house that has a bill!" said Scorpius, bouncing with excitement. "But I don't pay him."

"The duck or Albus?" asked Helena with a knowing grin.

Scorpius shrugged. "I don't pay anything. Daddy does."

At the mention of his name, Draco cleared his throat. All the Grangers, Hermione included, turned to face him, and Draco gave a half-sarcastic wave. "Hello."

"Is  _that_  how you greet your future in-laws?" Helena asked, placing her hands on her hips. "That will never do. Come here, Draco. Give us a hug."

"I'm not a hugger."

"You are now," said Jean. "You might as well face it. Helena's not going to let you leave this room until you give her a hug."

"Have any trouble, Harry?" asked Hermione to her best friend as she watched Draco attempt to fight off Helena's hug, only to be squished between her grip. Harry crossed his arms, admiring the spectacle as he shook his head.

"Not a one. Your parents are always so nice."

"They're dentists. Of course, they are."

"I thought I read somewhere dentists have the highest rate for suicide."

"Does it look like that to you?" asked Hermione, gesturing to her family as Helena left a lipstick stain on the side of Draco's cheek. He didn't seem as irritated by it as the first time she'd ever done it: progress.

"No, but Malfoy looks like he could die of mortification. You going to rescue him any time soon?"

"Just a minute longer," she giggled. "This is too much fun to pass up."

"How often are you flossing, Draco?" asked Helena as she reached for Draco's jaw to pry it open. He swatted her hand away like he would a fly, but Hermione's mother was determined, and she pulled his mouth open, observing his teeth with interest. She tsk'd. "Not often enough, I should say."

"The man has a sweet tooth, same as our Hermione," nodded Jean as he glanced inside Draco's mouth. If looks could kill, Hermione and Harry would be dead on the spot from the sideways glance Draco shot them. "I know wizards use cleaning spells, but it doesn't hold justice to a good, old-fashioned toothbrush and a good rinse with mouthwash…"

"-ah uu un?" Draco gargled. Translation: 'Are you done!?' Hermione had watched her parents enough in their office to understand the dental groans.

"Yes, I should say so," said Helena as she released his mouth; Draco rubbed his jaw, rather offended. "While we're in town, we should take you to the store and buy you a toothbrush that will do well with your gums. They look to be a bit sensitive…"

"Hermione!"

To the rescue, Hermione swooped in and wrapped an arm around each of her parent's shoulders. "Mum, Dad, Draco and I have you set up in the East wing. I think you'll find it rather homey. Where are your bags?"

"Oh! They're with me." Harry reached into his pockets and produced three small cubes. Hermione recognized them instantly as miniature versions of luggage. With a wave of his wand, they cubes grew in size until they were full-sized versions. "Didn't think there was a use of lugging them around."

"Quite right," said Jean, staring at the bags with a fascination that could have rivaled Arthur Weasley's when it came to muggle things. "Thank you, Harry."

"Any time, Mister Granger."

"Ah, none of that Mister nonsense, now. You're practically another son to us," Jean grinned. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione didn't miss the subtle fall of Draco's face; it was as if he wanted to hear those words aimed at  _him_ and not Harry. It wasn't like her father was terrible to Draco, but Jean was much more standoffish than Helena when it came to opening up, that was for sure. And it reflected in the way he and Draco interacted with each other.

"What about your parents?" asked Helena to Draco. "Will they be joining us?"

His expression softening and his chest puffing out with pride, Draco replied, "Within the day."

"How is your father coping? You know...with…"

"Being a squib?" he finished. "Well, losing his magic did hit a nerve in his ego, but my father is nothing if not resilient."

"And a new sister, yes?" offered Jean, still keeping a fair bit of space between Draco. Hermione supposed she had never seen them hug. Ever.

"Victoria, but, er...well, that's a bit more complicated." Draco rubbed the back of his neck. "She doesn't exactly know...yet."

Sensing the heaviness of the conversation, Hermione attempted to steer it in a different direction. "Scorpius, you want to show your grandparents where they'll be sleeping?"

"Oooh, yeah!" Scorpius had retreated back to play with his dragons, but he sprung up, action figures in tow, and shouted, "Follow meeee!"

"Lots of energy, that one," commented Jean.

"Indeed," agreed Helena. They both gathered their bags and followed the four-year-old gleefully down the hall.

"I should go with them," stated Draco. "Knowing Scorpius, he'll lead them down to the kitchen and try to convince them to make him pancakes. - Potter." With a nod of his head, Draco strolled off to follow them.

"Dean told me about the library," Harry said once they were alone. "But...I noticed  _you_ didn't."

Sighing, Hermione crossed her arms. "I wasn't sure how you'd take the news, honestly."

"Why not?" Harry's green eyes sparkled with genuine concern. "I'm your best friend, Hermione. I thought we tell each other things like this."

"We do. But...this is still the same man that murdered Ron."

"So you knew what my answer would be."

"Don't worry, Harry. We aren't taking the library."

Sighing in relief, he blurted out, "Good." When Hermione shot him a scathing glare, he added hastily, "I just don't trust it, is all. It seems too coincidental."

"Believe me, Draco feels the same way."

"And you don't?"

"I do…but we both know Dean will take it."

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I've tried talking him out of it. But his friendship with Diggle ran deep. As deep as ours, in some cases."

"Which is why I'm going to use that to my advantage," said Hermione. "When Dean takes the library, I'll still have access to it."

"So you  _don't_ plan on letting it go."

"Harry...do you trust me?"

"With my life," he nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. "You know that."

"Then trust that my interest in the library is solely out of academic curiosity. And I promise, if I find anything remotely suspicious, I'll notify the Ministry immediately."

Harry seemed thoroughly satisfied with the answer. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear." He strode over to the floo, picked up a bit of floo powder from the bag on the mantle, and winked. "Alright, I have to get back to work. I'll see you later tonight for dinner, yeah?"

"Sounds good, Harry."

The next moment, he was gone, and Hermione released a pent-up sigh.

Whatever this library held, she would unravel its secrets, one way or another.

* * *

**I hope ya'll enjoyed this bit of love. The next chapter progresses the plot a little, and we get to see Lucius and Narcissa!**

 

**As always, a review, favorite, or follow would be the sweetest thing! They certainly make me smile. See you next Friday!  
~A.**


	4. The Unicorn Of The Sea

**I know I took a long break, but I'm back! I won't bore you - so here's the chapter you've waited so long for. I promise to not be away long. The new update schedule should be every two weeks, unless I can squeeze in more time. Thank you to LondonsLegend for bouncing ideas around, giving me great materail, and beta'ing.**

**With love, A.**

* * *

Draco took a good, long look at himself in the mirror. He wasn't prepared for the argument about to ensue, but he wasn't prepared for most things - he simply let them happen, expecting for the worst and hoping for the best.

Unfortunately, he wasn't lucky enough to slide by on his looks alone this time. No, this time, as his future wife stepped inside the drawing room the next morning, he realized no charming smile or debonair smirk could eradicate the mess already in place.

"This can't be right, can it?"

"Pardon?"

"The catering...we received our final bill this morning."

"And?"

Hermione's eyes glistened in annoyance as she set the parchment down on the coffee table and slid it over to him. Like a mafia man about to receive a case of laundered money, Draco sat up straight, trying to appear casual as he picked up the paper and read quietly to himself.

"I don't see what the issue is?"

It wasn't the right thing to say. Hermione huffed, snatched the paper out of his hand, and waved it in front of him as if he hadn't already read the numbers. "This can't be right. The figures are way too high. And these items...Champagne Krug Vintage Brut? Silk napkins?  _Narwhal_  tail? We didn't order any of these."

Draco flinched. "Err….actually, we did."

He watched as his soon-to-be-wife's eyes gained momentum until they were the size of small tea plates. "I never signed off on any of this! It's so impractical! Silk napkins? Who on earth cares about what sort of napkins to use? And Narwhal tail? Narwhals?"

"They're the unicorn of the sea."

"They're not going on my menu, Draco!" Hermione shouted, waving her fist, which still clutched the bill. "Explain yourself!"

"Hermione, love-" Draco knew he stepped in it, and he hoped adding a pet name to the end of his sentences would relieve some pressure off the tension filling the room. "-All of this is common amongst traditional pureblood weddings."

If words could be turned into shit, he would have been stepping into the largest pile of dung Draco had ever seen.

"Traditional  _pureblood_  weddings? Since when was I, or have I ever been, a pureblood?"

"That's not what I meant," Draco sighed. "My parents are fronting the bill for the catering, so they told me to go ahead and put some of the items we knew would ease some of the magical community into some of the less traditional muggle parts of it all."

Could he slap himself in the mouth? Why was verbal diarrhea a thing he caught every time he opened his lips?

"First of all, we're going to come back to that ridiculous statement about muggle traditions," Hermione stated flatly. "But before we come to that, may I remind you that  _my_ parents are picking up the tab for the catering? This is far too expensive."

"Too expensive?" A head popped in through the doorway - one that Draco had been trying to avoid since his arrival; it belonged to Jean Granger. "Nonsense, darling. Whatever it is, I'm sure your mother and I can manage."

"No, Dad, listen," Hermione began, "I'm marching straight down to the catering office this afternoon and setting things straight. There's no way we're putting narwhal on the menu."

"Narwhal?" Jean blinked. "Those friendly looking unicorn fish? What ever would we do with those?"

"Eat them," Draco interjected. "Just dip them into a soy-based sauce. It's delicious."

Jean began to laugh. "Ohohoh...that's a keen sense of humor you have there….you are taking the mickey, aren't you?"

"What on earth is a Mickey?"

"Did someone mention Mickey Mouse?" This time, it was Helena, Hermione's mother, to wriggle her way into the conversation and popping her head in the doorway. "Oh, I just adore him, don't you? Though, I always thought he and Daisy would make a better pair. She's far too intelligent for that Donald…"

Draco wasn't sure if his in-laws were taking the piss when they thought he would understand a word of that conversation, but he decided it was best to pick his battles, and this wasn't one of them. Instead, he propped himself up higher in his seat and said, in a serious tone, "Mister Granger, I assure you I'm not taking a mickey mouse, here."

"Draco, don't you think this would have been something we should have discussed together?" asked Hermione, exasperated.

"You're always telling me to get more involved in the wedding. The one moment I decide to do that, I'm reprimanded for it. I'm beginning to feel a bit of whiplash."

"Come now, Hermione, I'm sure it's not all that bad," said Jean, letting himself fully into the room without an invite, his wife hot on his trail as he reached for the bill. "Let me see."

"No, Dad, I really don't think-" But the paper had been snatched from her hands and promptly read.

Jean's eyes widened. His lip twitched. As his wife read over his shoulder, she released a shrill gasp. Finally, Jean said, "I've not seen this many zeros since I learned about decimal places in primary school."

"Yes, I imagine larger numbers would intimidate those who are used to seeing trivial amounts." And with that, Lucius Malfoy let himself into the room, a smirk planted on his face. "But you needn't worry yourself with this, as  _I_ shall be footing the bill."

Jean's eyebrows shot up. "Pardon my language, Lucius, but the Hell you are! This is my little girl's wedding!"

"And it is my only son's."

"I think what my husband is trying to say, Lucius," said Helena, "is that while it is a generous offer, we politely decline."

"Offer? It wasn't an offer," Lucius drawled impatiently. "These types of events require a level of...sophistication - not to mention, exorbitant means one of the  _dental_ profession could hardly hope to acquire."

If Jean Granger could have been transfigured into an old, wet hen, everyone would have witnessed the ruffle of every single feather at Lucius' words. "Tell me, what is it exactly you  _do_ for a living, Malfoy? Besides sit on your inheritances and spew codswallop!"

"Jean!" gasped Helena.

"Daddy!" scolded Hermione.

Lucius simply smirked, flashing his son a conquering wink. "I pay for catering, of course."

"Over my dead body, sir!"

"Believe me,  _Jean,_  that could be arranged…"

"Oh!" Helena grabbed her husband by the arm. "Come on, Jean. We will not stand here and be threatened by...by some washed up Death Eater!"

The room grew cold quickly as Jean escorted his wife out of the room. Lucius stood stark still as they breezed past him, and Draco recognized that look, however subtle, as shame. It took Lucius a full thirty seconds to gain his composure before muttering under his breath, "I expect a copy of that bill within the hour. And we will double the orders of champagne." With a dramatic turn only a Malfoy could muster, Lucius stormed out of the room.

"I just can't believe it," Hermione whispered.

"I'll say," agreed Draco. "Your mother stepped over the line, didn't she?"

"What? No! I was talking about your father being an absolute cur and insinuating my parents couldn't afford to pay for the catering."

"Well...they can't, can they?" Draco blurted out.

"They could if there wasn't all of this...trite nonsense on here!" She pointed accusingly at him. "I mean it, Draco. Take off the extravagants."

"They're not extravagants, Hermione. They're necessities."

After a scathing expression, Hermione wadded up the bill and tossed it at him. "Fix this. Sort it out between our parents.  _Now._  - I'm late to meet up with Dean."

All of the fuss over the catering, their parents, and fighting lay by the wayside in that moment. "He took the library, then?"

Hermione relaxed considerably in posture, understanding Draco's distress. "Yes. He did." There was a pause. "I promise, I'll be careful."

"It isn't that I don't trust you...but Diggle…"

"Diggle is dead, Draco."

"And alliteration doesn't take away the fact that even in death, I still don't trust the bastard."

Despite their conflicts, Hermione still plopped herself down next to Draco and kissed him gently on the lips. "Neither do I."

"At least we agree on that...and the narwhal?"

"Don't push your luck."

* * *

"It's marvelous, isn't it?"

"Marvelous isn't really the word I'd use…" answered Dean quietly, pushed up against the wall of his apartment, for there were far too many boxes to have any elbow room. Hermione stood next to him, grinning ear to ear at the spectacle, a devious gleam in her eye.

"Oh, but Dean, surely you can appreciate a good book?"

" _A_ good book. Singular. As it is, this is...well, it's way too many, isn't it?" He couldn't take it anymore, and with a flourish of his wand, he stacked up three boxes precariously on top of each other, praying to Merlin they wouldn't fall over. "I knew Greg liked to read, but this almost puts you to shame, doesn't it?"

Hermione didn't find his joke as amusing as he did, and she proceeded to roll her eyes. "I'm sure in another life, Greg Diggle and I could have gotten on very well."

"He sure thought so…"

The small spark in his friend's eye dimmed, and Dean knew he'd, perhaps, crossed a line. "Sorry."

"No, it's alright...it's just...odd, is all. I never thought I'd feel  _sympathy_ for the man, but here I am, wondering what he could have been like if things had turned out differently, just like you are. - Right, well...here's a list of spells to get things organized." To Dean's dismay, Hermione pulled out a scroll of parchment from her beaded bag and set it in his hands. "The first one is for alphabetical, the second is for sizing…"

"You seriously expect me to do all of that tonight?"

"I'm sorry." She blinked. "Do you and Luna have a date?"

Warmth crawled up Dean's face. "I wish. Unfortunately, she's working late."

"So you'll have time then?"

With a sigh, Dean glanced around at the various boxes, rubbing the back of his head. Well, he needed to get them out of the middle of the floor, didn't he? "Yeah. Anything in particular I should alert you to?"

Hermione's eyes trailed over the books she so desperately wanted to search. "Anything unusual."

"That's a wide range."

"Just...be careful, yes?"

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"Great." She swept her arms around him and jostled him into a friendly hug. "I've got to run. My parents have been in town for two days, and it feels like a lifetime already."

"Malfoys and Grangers not getting on?" Dean smirked. "I would have never guessed."

As he watched his friend step through the floo on her way home, he laughed quietly and kicked a box for sport - accidentally causing it to topple over.

"Bollocks."

* * *

A heavy sigh escaped Theodore Jameson's lips. Pulling double duty at the office this week to make up for Auror Granger and Malfoy preparing for their wedding wasn't what bothered him. In fact, he rather thought work was the highlight of his day. Because after he clocked out from his shift, he was forced to make the trudge back home. And home meant...well…

"Everything alright, Jameson?" asked Auror Potter -  _Harry_ , Jameson reminded himself. He'd been told on multiple occasions he could call his commanding officer as such, but it just didn't sit right in his stomach. Even thinking of calling him by a first name, in Jameson's mind, felt sour and odd.

"Fine, Sir. Just finishing up this report."

"Why don't you go on home? It can wait until morning." Auror Potter set his mug of coffee down on the edge of Theodore's desk, crossing his arms. Theodore wondered if this was a reprimanding or if it was simply cold in the room - social cues weren't his strong suit, after all.

"I'm sorry, Sir. But leaving work until later-"

"Jameson. I was being polite. Go home." Potter's eyebrows drew together. "Hermione told me Astoria's not doing so great. You should be with her when you can."

A tension like a wire coil tugged inside of Jameson's chest, holding him hostage in his seat, barely able to breathe. "Auror Potter, may I be frank with you?"

"Uh...yeah? Sure. Go for it." Uncrossing his arms, his supervisor picked up his mug once more and took a long sip. Theodore supposed that was a good sign.

"I'd rather be working, Sir."

Auror Potter choked on his cuppa. "Pardon?"

"Working, Sir. I'd rather be."

"But...why?"

Because no amount of seeing Astoria in the state she was in could keep her from dying. Because… "Because I'm expecting an important package delivered to the Ministry this evening. Some Tibetan grass roots."

"Um, not to be rude, but...why?"

Theodore shuffled some of his paperwork around on his desk, anxious. "It relieves pain." That was all he needed to say for Auror Potter to receive the message.

"It's even worse than she's letting on, isn't it?"

Theodore's eyes trailed down to his lap as tears stung the bottom of his eyelids. He wanted to push them away, but doing so would indicate stress and displeasure to Auror Potter, which he couldn't bring himself to show. Instead, Theodore blinked thoroughly before grabbing up his quill from its inkwell and jotting down a few numbers on a notepad. They didn't mean anything in actuality, but Auror Potter didn't know that. Just something to keep himself busy.

"The Healer we saw last week said the curse is progressing. All of the stress from using magic...they've put her on a strict regimen of limited magic, but she isn't one to listen."

Auror Potter nodded slowly. "Damn. I'm sorry, Jameson. I wish there was more to be done."

Theodore cleared his throat - there was an urge to vomit, but he stifled it. "On second thought, perhaps...perhaps it's best if I go home for the time being."

"I can deliver the root to you via floo immediately after it arrives," offered Potter.

"Thank you, Sir."

He gathered his things quickly, still remaining meticulous in his evening procedure. All quills lined largest to smallest and a good sealing spell to his desk later, Theodore was off toward the lift that would take him down to the floos.

On the way home, he stopped in Diagon Alley and picked up Astoria's favorite dessert: chocolate truffles drizzled in honey. She'd insisted he pick some up on his way home this morning after she exclaimed she had a sudden craving for them. And, to Theodore's credit, he never liked to let her down if he could help it.

One more floo trip later, he stepped out of the fireplace and into Astoria's living room. Well, he supposed it belonged to the both of them, as they'd begun living together shortly after the fall of Abraxas Malfoy. It had been Astoria's idea initially, but Theodore didn't argue the point. He enjoyed his time with her, even if it meant living in a lavish, five bedroom home that Astoria called 'quaint' every chance she got.

"Astoria?" he called, shrugging off his work robes.

When there was no answer, Theodore panicked.

"Tori?"

He dashed up the stairs, truffle box still in hand, and didn't stop until he made it to their bedroom. Ever the gentleman, he still knocked before entering and, to his relief, found Astoria cuddled on the bed, surrounded by pillows, reading a book. In her ears were a set of earbuds (gifted to her by Auror Granger on Christmas last year) and the ipod Theodore had given to pair with them.

"Oh, Theo! You're home!" Astoria grinned, pulling the earbuds out. "Early, aren't you?" Her eyes fell immediately on the box of truffles. "Ooh, you spoil me."

Expelling a sigh, Theodore managed a forced smile. "You say that every time."

"Because you spoil me every time." She patted a spot amongst the pillows. "I've missed you." As her arm extended, Theodore caught the sight of her veins, deep purple and blue, traveling all the way up her forearm, shoulder, and along the side of her neck.

Theodore took the hint, removing his shoes dutifully before sitting on the bed and handing her the box of goodies. A kiss on the cheek was his reward, and this time, a real smile broadened across his face, even if he couldn't get the image of Astoria's blue veins out of his head.

"You should rest," he said when her hand curled over his thigh.

"Nonsense, I've been resting all day. In fact...I could use a little exercise."

Theodore blinked. "The Healer says you're to stay off your feet as much as you can."

He didn't miss Astoria's eye roll. "Not what I meant, Theodore." Her lips grazed his earlobe. "But if you insist on playing Healer, I could play patient for a night. Would you like to check my temperature?"

Theodore didn't get the hint. "If you think you're running a fever, I can-"

He was shut up with a kiss.

Oh.

"I see…" Bashfully, Theodore blushed, loosening his tie from around his neck. "I suppose if you're feeling ill, I could give you a thorough examination." Roleplaying, he'd learned, was one of Astoria's favorite bedroom activities. He didn't understand the appeal himself, but Theodore would do whatever if it made Astoria happy. Just as he was about to lean over and begin his 'examination', Astoria bolted out of bed.

"Tori?"

"Blegh!" She didn't even make it to the bathroom in time - but the vase by the doorway proved just as helpful. Too bad her lilies wouldn't agree.

"Are you alright?" he blurted out.

After three more upchucks, Astoria wiped the back of her hand against her mouth and turned to give him a stern look. "Peachy. Just thought the flowers could use with some dinner."

Given a moment of thinking about it, Theodore nodded. "Ahh. Sarcasm." He stood and, after she brushed her teeth in the bathroom, he helped her back to the bed. "This Healer thinks you need a bit more rest. No strenuous activity."

"For heaven's sake, Theodore, I'm not an invalid." Astoria batted his hands away, red across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

"Vomiting is a new symptom," he noted, pulling out a notepad from his back pocket and reaching for a quill on the edge of the coffee table. If there was one thing Theodore was good at, it was jotting down every detail. So, when Astoria grabbed the quill from him and shook her head, he tilted his head. "Astoria?"

"This symptom...it isn't from the curse."

"I'll admit, it's not one we anticipated, but it could be the pain potion we've had you on," Theodore explained anxiously. "But I've ordered that new root, and Auror Potter said he would deliver it to us when-"

"Cancel it."

"Pardon?"

"I said cancel it. I can't have the root. It's not good for...well, it's not good for me."

Confused, Theodore raised an eyebrow. "According to every medical journal, it's the best out there. The only time it's dangerous to consume is during pregnancy."

"Exactly." Astoria chewed on her lower lip expectantly, but for what, Theodore wasn't sure. When he didn't react, she reached for the truffles and popped one in her mouth. "I'll admit this wasn't the way I planned on telling you, but…"

"Telling me? Telling me wha-ohhh."

Theodore looked to the truffles. To the vase filled with vomit. To the flushed, almost glowing Astoria.

"Theodore? Would you please say something? Hello?"

The next moment, Astoria found herself on her back, truffles knocked off the bed just as she was knocked off her feet (so to speak) by a wild, passionate kiss.

* * *

**I look forward to reading the reviews as they come in! I will reply to all of them next chapter!**   
**~A.**


	5. These Complicated Hearts

**Ah, I finally got another chapter out! I hope this one gets the ball rolling off on our adventure. Of course, you can make all the guesses you'd like, but remember: nothing in the How To Train Your Auror series is quite what it seems!**

**A big shout out to LondonsLegend and LightofEvolution for alpha'ing this story for me. I've thrown them a few different plot bunnies out, and they've helped me scoop out the muck and find the pearls. Althought, if they're bunnies, does that make the pearls poo? Probably. Lmao**

**Thank you to waymay for beta'ing, and thank you to LondonsLegend for also catching some of my errors!**

**I will leave replies to reviews of the last chapter at the end of this one! Hope ya'll give me some feedback! I'm excited to hear what you think. :D**

**~A.**

* * *

**It was the fourth of July**

**You and I were, you and I were**

**Fire, fire, fireworks**  
**That went of too soon**  
**And I miss you in the June gloom too**  
**I said I'd never miss you**  
**But I guess you never know**  
**May the bridges I have burned**  
**Light my way back home on the Fourth of July**

**"Fourth of July" by Fall Out Boy**

* * *

**Chapter Five: These Complicated Hearts**

* * *

Today wasn't Draco's day. With his parents bickering, the in-laws grumbling, Hermione's feathers ruffled, and no narwhal on the menu, he didn't think his day could get much worse.

But he was wrong, like he often was.

Because today he had one more loose end to tie up before the ceremony, but it involved sticking his neck out - something snakes didn't do without knowing they were going to strike. After all, Slytherins weren't often bold unless they knew they could win. However, this was one of those times where being quiet and thoughtful held more merit than showing one's fangs, and so Draco Malfoy strummed the heavy knocker against the door in front of him, holding his breath.

There was a loud groan which sounded like it came from the door, and then chimes rang out behind it. A couple of seconds trickled by before a gruff looking house elf dressed in a dingy, faded towel popped up beside Draco, an irritated expression on its tired face.

"How may Squeaky help Master's unscheduled guest today?" it grumbled out, narrowing its beady eyes.

"Er...hello." Draco eyed the elf uncomfortably. "Is your lady of the house home?"

"Missus is not taking visitors today."

"But you asked how you could help," he countered, "and right now, that would be seeing your Missus."

Squeaky quirked a fluffy eyebrow and sneered, "Missus won't be happy."

"Then she can take it up with me: Auror Draco Malfoy from the Ministry of Magic." He shoved his hand into his pocket and produced his badge, flashing it quickly. True, it probably wasn't in good form to use his status to form a meeting with someone, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and time was short.

After pondering over the badge, Squeaky promptly disappeared. Draco waited cordially, but after a few minutes passed, he became suspicious that Squeaky was having a laugh at Draco's expense. Just as he was about to use the knocker again, there was a click somewhere behind the door, and it swung open in one daunting movement.

"Right...nothing ventured, nothing gained," he muttered as he stepped inside, trying desperately to emulate his fiancée.

The front door took him directly inside a foyer the size of a small drawing room, decorated from head to toe in lilac. The floorboards, the wallpaper, and everything in between seemed to be all shades of the color. Draco was eerily reminded of Dolores Umbridge's obsession with pink, when from across the room, someone shouted at him.

"Auror Malfoy!" Wavy hair the color of the midnight sky bounced in ringlets as the same someone dashed across the foyer, stopping just short of him. "Woah! It's been too long? What are you doing here?"

Draco took in the sight of sea-green eyes blinking up at him wondrously. It was odd - she didn't look a thing like him, and yet she was closer to him than she could ever imagine. Hopefully, if all went well today, he could right one more of his family's wrongs. "Victoria Crabbe," he smirked, dipping his head politely. "Is your mother home?"

* * *

"There now...that's...well, that's kind of alright, now isn't it?" Dean pondered. He'd made a small dent in the seemingly endless piles of books, but one could hardly tell. He'd managed to summon the tomes beginning with A through E and organize them, but he was already exhausted and ready for a cup of something strong. With a long sigh, he set his wand on the coffee table and fumbled his way over toward his kitchenette to fish out his bottle of vodka from the freezer. He didn't even bother looking for a shot glass; a twist of the lid later and he guzzled down three shots before wiping his upper lip.

He glanced at the photo hanging on his refrigerator: it was of Luna and him sharing a seaweed flavored milkshake in Diagon Alley last year. Smiling to himself, he took another pull from the bottle. He loved Luna; it was true. Ever since they began dating, Dean knew he'd one day ask her to marry him. He'd visited the various jewelry stores, written down the words he'd recite, even picked out  _the_ ring last month. She'd been good for him, pushing him toward his goals. She never judged him on his faults. But something had been holding him back from taking that final step, and it had nothing to do with his career, fears, or commitment issues.

He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the fireplace. It was almost time.

"Fuck...what am I doing?" he muttered, taking one last swig of his vodka as he maneuvered around the books and dropped to the floor in front of the fire, crossing his legs. A lightweight by nature, he could already feel the effects of the alcohol as the hour chimed eight in the evening. Like clockwork, the fire began to manifest and crack as it changed form. It took the form of a familiar head.

"Hiya, Dean."

Dean gave a lopsided smile. "Hey, Seamus."

Seamus Finnigan grinned back at him, tilting his head. "Planning on getting shite faced?"

Dean followed his friend's eyes down to the bottle in his hand. "Something like that."

"A tad early, isn't it?"

"Maybe where  _you_ are," Dean chuckled, bringing the bottle to his lips. "Where are you, exactly?"

"The States. Arizona, to be specific."

"Blimey...that sounds horrible."

"Eh, it's not so bad. There's Thunderbirds here. You ever see one?"

Dean leaned back on his elbows. "Nah, can't say I have."

"They're gorgeous, they are. When I get back, I'll have to show you some photos."

"Yeah, alright."

A comfortable silence fell between them, and Dean found himself eyeing the fiery version of Seamus' jaw. He'd filled out nicely since their days at Hogwarts. Dean recalled the pudgy cheeks his best friend used to have, the way he'd singed off his eyebrows, and the way his mouth used to taste while they were hidden away in the quidditch locker rooms.

"You're doin' it again," chimed Seamus.

Guilt ran strong through Dean, like an electric current, forcing him to tear his eyes away and stare down at the floor beside him. "Am not." God, was he that transparent? Of course he was - at least, to Seamus. The man practically grew up with him. How would he not know Dean's tells instantly?

"How's Luna?" Seamus asked suddenly, and Dean brought his gaze back up so their sights met.

"She's good," Dean said with a fake cheerfulness, plastering a forced smile on his face. "The, uh, the paper's been good. Wrote an article about Irish Whiskey. Helped us catch a few at large wizards."

"That's good," his friend agreed, nodding. It looked rather odd to see a floating head nodding in the fireplace. "Yeah, that's, uh, good. Good…"

"Is that all you can say? Good?"

"Dunno," Seamus smirked bashfully. "Maybe."

"Ah, you're rubbish."

"And you're at least two sheets to the wind already. Watch out that you don't add one more."

"Piss off." Laughing, Dean swigged down some more alcohol, this time spilling some on the front of his shirt. Seamus laughed at him through the flames, and Dean shot him the bird.

"Careful, mate. Might take you up on that offer," Seamus sniggered playfully. "Teach you a real good lesson."

An immediate blush flushed up the tips of Dean's ears as he wiped away the alcohol dribbling down his chin. "In your dreams, Finnigan."

"Yeah...maybe."

Just like that, the tension was there again. It seemed to always find its way back, no matter how many 'mates' and jokes they layered on top of it. They hadn't been together in nearly a decade, but, still…

He'd never cheat. Dean would  _never_ do that. His Gryffindor morality prevented it, but the fleeting want to invite Seamus through the floo skittered across his mind like a stone on the surface of a lake. However, he knew that should he, his would resolve would break, and he didn't need another goddamn mess like the pieces of his shattered heart in the aftermath of their breakup. More so, he would never do that to Luna. He loved her unconditionally. No matter what strange feelings prickled the back of his mind whenever he talked to Seamus, it never changed how he felt about Luna. But he couldn't deny that, since becoming more serious about her, he'd wondered if it showed on his face whenever Seamus would come around for a drink. Luna, to her credit, never brought it up. Maybe she didn't notice...yeah, as if Luna was that daft.

"D'you ever wonder," he asked barely above a whisper, "why this...why we stopped?"

Seamus was quiet for a moment. "Dunno. Different directions, I s'pose."

"Yeah…" Dean swallowed, his mouth dry. He decided that another good shot of vodka would wet his whistle. "S'pose so." That hadn't been his question at all.

"But you've got Luna now," Seamus offered. "And if anyone can put up with your arse, it's her."

"Fuck off," Dean laughed, allowing some of the tension to deflate. No use in pushing it. "But yeah, you might have a point."

"What, uh...what brought that up?"

"S'complicated," Dean slurred, staring at the flickering flames around his friend's face. "Everyone's getting married, or engaged, and...and sometimes I think we're good. You and me. What we have between us. But then you pop off, and…"

"Ah." Seamus nodded. "Yeah, I get it." He tucked his head. "Sorry. Sometimes, I forget myself."

Dean swigged down even more alcohol; he hoped it would guide him on his spiritual journey to the numbness of feelings. "You're the one who left," he reminded Seamus crisply between sips. "Remember?"

"It was a little more complicated than that."

"Was it?"

"Ahhhh, you're knackered."

"So?"

"So, you get right pissy when you're sloshed. Come to think of it, you get right pissy any time." After a thick snort of laughter, he added, "What's with all the books?"

"Hmm?" Dean, eager for the distraction, took the bait. "Oh, it's that library Greg left me."

"Holy Hells. You weren't joking when you said  _a library_! There's more books here than the restricted section at Hogwarts!"

"And probably even more dangerous," Dean noted, leaning over and plucking a random one from the top of a pile. "If there's one thing Greg loved more than lying, it was collecting dangerous objects."

"...Any... _adult_  literature?"

Dean's jaw hung. "Are you asking me if Greg kept erotic novels?"

"Or nudie mags," Seamus smirked at Dean's surprise. "What?"

"It's just...I never considered it." Dean glanced around the room. "Would it be in bad form to be sneaking a peek into a late-friend's debaucheries?"

"You're askin' the wrong bloke about the moralities of that."

"You're a Gryffindor."

"Yeah, but I always thought I would'a done well in Slytherin." Seamus beamed cunningly. "And if he happened to have a thing for blokes, it wouldn't weird you out anyway."

Dean, properly past tipsy by this point, found himself sniggering into the back of his hand. "Still, it'd be awkward explaining it away to Luna that they weren't mine." Not that she'd judge him. Luna was one of the few people Dean was open about his bisexuality with. It wasn't that he didn't trust his friends with the sensitive information. He just thought some things were better left to privacy. After all, he didn't want to know how Harry and Ginny got it on.

"In all seriousness, be careful, yeah?" Seamus' face took a grave turn as his eyebrows knitted together. "I know he was a chum, but Greg Diggle was still a cold blooded murderer."

"Thanks for the reminder," Dean muttered dully. His head pulsed, and his lips felt numb. One good lie down and he'd be out like a light. He struggled to keep his head up as his eyes flickered shut. "Maybe I am a bit knackered."

"Told you. When is Luna coming over to tuck your sorry arse into bed?"

"Huh? Oh, um," he tried desperately to form a coherent thought. "She's in Peru right now with'a story. Won't be back until the wedding. S'alright. I can do it myself." With a feeble push, he attempted to stand but fell hard back on his arse. Laughing, he added, "Orrrrr not."

Seamus sighed. "I'll be right there."

"What -no- don't-" Dean began, but the fire snuffed out like it had been doused in water. Shivers danced up his spine as the fireplace lit to life again, this time with green sparks and fire that danced like a storm before Seamus stepped through them, dressed casually in lounge pants and baggy t-shirt with a Gryffindor logo stitched into it. His hair was floppy, dangling over his eyes, and he wore a crooked smile.

"You're sucha lightweight," he teased in his Irish cadence, gawking down at his best friend.

Brandishing the half-empty bottle of vodka, Dean countered, "I'm a completionist."

"Looks like you'll be putting that projecting on hold. Come on, get up."

"No, I-" But Seamus already had his fingers locked around Dean's wrists, hoisting the young Auror to his feet. Where Dean was all lean muscle, Seamus wore it in bulk around his forearms and shoulders. He was shorter than Dean, but not by much, so they stood almost nose-to-nose now. Seamus gave neither of them time to think on it as he looped a sturdy arm around Dean's torso and propped him up. "On you get. That's it. Nice and easy."

The room began to spin as Dean took his first few steps toward the bedroom, and he finally felt thankful to Seamus for coming to his rescue. Together, they stumbled down the short hallway to the last door on the left. Seamus kicked it open with his foot and led Dean onward, nearly tossing him like a sack of potatoes onto the bed. Or maybe that was because Dean was too drunk to distribute his weight. He was too far gone to think about it.

"Thanks, mate," he said, shuffling until his head met a soft pillow. "Brings back memories."

"Does it?"

"Remember us getting shite-faced in Brighton? I was so plastered-"

"Oh, yeah! I had to carry you on my back all the way back to the hotel because I couldn't levitate you in front of the muggles." Seamus beamed fondly at the memory. "A lot of fun, that was." Though his last bit was sarcastic, Dean didn't take it personally. He remembered exactly how that night had ended: his head on Seamus' chest, listening to his heartbeat as he was lulled into a drunken sleep.

"Seamus?"

"Hmm?"

"I really need to…" Before Dean could finish, he turned quickly over the edge of the bed and vomited on the floor. The smell was rancid (maybe he shouldn't have eaten those crab cakes Luna left in the fridge and mixed them with alcohol). Seamus, to his credit, patted Dean's back until he'd finished his upchuck, and then he proceeded to pull Dean back up to his pillow and magick the sick away.

"Be right back, yeah? Gonna get you some water."

"Sorry…"

"Sorry? For what?" Seamus tilted his head. "For being piss drunk? I've been inside yer arsehole, Dean. It don't get more personal than that."

"You're a real charmer," muttered Dean, squeezing his eyes shut because he didn't want to see the smug expression on Seamus' face. He felt the bed shift and heard the clunk of boots on the carpet. It wasn't until he heard the door shut that Dean grabbed up the second pillow on his bed and proceeded to scream loudly into it.

* * *

"But Mum! I wanna talk to Auror Malfoy, too!"

"I'm sorry, kitten," Irma Crabbe replied stiffly as she flicked the front door open with a wave of her hand. "But this is adult business. Go check on the mandrakes in the greenhouse." She refused to acknowledge her daughter's distraught expression as Victoria was forced to leave the house. Victoria, not-so-subtly, slammed the door on the way out, shaking the paintings on the walls. Former Crabbes tucked away in their frames muttered and whispered, but if there was one thing knew about the Crabbe lineage, it was that they wouldn't fuss about things out loud. They would stew and let it simmer.

No doubt Victoria probably had some of those qualities, but she was also a Malfoy, and Malfoys always found a way to get even.

 _Dangerous, that one_ , Draco thought to himself.

"So, Auror Malfoy, let's, as the muggles say, 'get down to brass tacks.'" Irma folded her arms over her bodice, raising a cool eyebrow. "Why are you here?"

"I think you and I both know the answer to that one," he said cooly, trying his best to appear more confident than he was. "Surely you've received my letters. There were ten."

"Yes." Irma nodded. "Every one of them burned brightly in my fireplace."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Missus Crabbe-"

"Let me stop you there, young Malfoy." Irma threw a hand up, her eyes skimming over his face. "My, but you do look like your father, don't you?" In any other instance, Draco would have taken this as a compliment, but the way Irma's eyes burned furiously told him it was the exact opposite. "No matter." She shook herself out of whatever daze she was in. "She won't be attending. I'm sorry."

"But it's my wedding," Draco insisted with a huff of annoyance. "Now I've been civil enough to keep the secrets between us strictly  _between us._ But one day, she's going to find out the truth. And when she does, don't you think she's going to be a little irate that she didn't attend her only  _living_  brother's wedding?"

It was a deep cut, Draco knew, and the wound was just as tender for him, but it had to be said. For months, he'd tried to reason with her civilly, but they were running out of time.

"It would be best to watch how you speak of the dead, Auror Malfoy," Irma warned.

"You act as if he wasn't one of my best mates growing up."

"Best mates? Is that how you remember it? Because as I recall, Malfoys don't have friends; they find men to kick around and use before discarding them at their earliest conveniences."

Anger seared the edges of Draco's reason, and he literally bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something foolhardy. "It's not my fault my father chose my mother. But as I recall, it still takes two to have an affair, and you aren't exactly innocent either. To deny a Malfoy their place-"

"That's just it, isn't it? She isn't a Malfoy." Irma took a daunting step forward. "I raised her. Clothed her. Comforted her when she was sick - through the bad dreams and the scrapes. She is every bit a Crabbe. And I won't have you mucking that up by getting her involved in your family drama." Reading Draco's face, she added, "Oh, please. Your family has had more scandals than a night at the opera mixed with all the works by William Shakespeare. Besides - you already had one wedding, didn't you? And you did just fine without Victoria."

"I didn't know I had a sister then."

"And you still don't. Family is more than blood, Auror Malfoy. You'd do best to remember that."

Draco was just about to open his mouth to snap off a quip of his own when something inside his breast pocket began to vibrate and warm. He fished it out, staring down at the magicked golden coin each Auror was required to carry with them at all times starting a year ago. Hermione had brought the idea to Potter, stemming from their glory days Dumbledore's Army. It was brilliant, really. A means of communication disguised as a galleon, quicker than owl or floo, perfected in a way that personal messages were just as easy as ones to the entire division. He watched letters appear around the edging, and his face puckered.

"This is a tad awkward...may I use your floo?"

"Excuse me?"

But Draco had already brushed past Irma Crabbe, heading in the direction of the floo across the foyer. He wasted no time in grabbing the sack of powder off the mantle and throwing it into the flames. "Sorry, Missus Crabbe, but I'll have to take a rain check on the bickering."

* * *

He didn't know what to expect when he arrived, but he certainly didn't plan on nearly knocking smack-dab into a stack of books as tall as him. It was difficult to maneuver out of the green flames and find standing room in Dean's cramped living room, what with all of the piles of books.  _Diggle's library,_ he realized, taking it all in. He looked down at the still vibrating coin in his hand and back up to scan the room. "Dean?" he called out, but no one answered.

Agitated, he hopped (no, not hopped, because Malfoys didn't hop) around the room, avoiding books and the coffee table like he was playing 'the floor is lava' - only replace 'floor' with 'books.' Eventually, he got past the zombie hoard of inked pages and called out to his friend again, heart slamming his ribcage. "Thomas, come on! This isn't funny!"

Slowly, he made his way down the hallway, noting the dripping faucet in the kitchen as he passed. The temptation to turn the damned thing off wasn't as strong as his need to know his friend was alright, and so he continued to proceed until, with a careful push, he opened the bedroom door.

What he found made his blood chill.

Dean Thomas. On the floor. Covered in blood and clutching his Auror galleon which no doubt reflected the words scribed on Draco's.

_**'Send help. He's gone. Dean.'** _

* * *

 

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